


Open Palm

by Adoxography



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Drug Withdrawal, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adoxography/pseuds/Adoxography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "Grey 17 is Missing". Dr Franklin, still suffering from stimulant withdrawal, is visited by a concerned friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Palm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shell_and_bone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/gifts).



> This is my first Babylon 5 fic, and my first time posting fanfiction in seven years. I'd like to think I've improved somewhat but we'll see. 
> 
> Edited by the lovely shell_and_bone~

 Dr. Franklin was wedged in a corner of the market behind a bench and a fake plant, though the terra cotta pot was real enough, and cool on his cheek. It was a welcome relief from the fever that plagued him. He had pulled his collar high in the hopes that no one would recognize him, especially not in this sorry state. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his entire body shaking like a junkie's. Well, he was a junkie, wasn't he? Who was he to pretend he was better than any other addict he himself had treated?

He was exhausted, having been unable to sleep for the past two days. It would pass, like any other symptom. His entire body ached. Part of that was the withdrawal, another part was spending his nights sleeping (when he could sleep) in places such as the one he found himself in. Cold steel ground made for poor sleeping arrangements, though it didn't take his medical license to tell him that.

He had wanted to get away, to walk and keep walking, but five miles was not very long and it had started to feel more like pacing. He stuck to the seedier places, less likely to be recognized by anyone whose respect he worried about losing, though it came with the greater risk of getting mugged. It felt right to be lost, though, and with his head in a fog it didn't exactly matter where he was.

When Franklin saw him out of the corner of his eye, at first he thought he was hallucinating. Marcus was in bad shape, his face a mess of purple and green bruises, probably only a couple of days old. He walked slowly, one side stiff, more bruising under his clothes then, or maybe even something worse. When Marcus caught his eye and headed straight for him, Franklin knew he was real, and annoyance flared up inside him. Ivanova had given her word she wouldn't send anyone else after him. After all he'd done, that she would ignore his wishes made him angrier than he could possibly articulate to the fast approaching figure.

“She sent you anyways, did she?” Franklin snapped as soon as Marcus was in earshot. Marcus paused, slightly taken aback. Marcus crouched in front of him, out of the way of pedestrian traffic.

“No one sent me, Stephan. I’d heard rumors. I was worried about you.”

Franklin's temper flared again. He grit his teeth, sitting up straighter. “Does no one trust me to take care of my own business?” Marcus frowned, pressing his lips together into a thin line, his eyes narrowed for just a moment and Franklin could almost swear he looked... hurt?

“I'm not here to try and make you come back,” he said, and at once his expression shifted, a weak smile emerging. “Let me buy you a drink, it will make me feel better.” Marcus extended a hand and Franklin eyed it warily.

“I'm not here to make you feel better,” he replied. The offer, however, was tempting, and a drink sounded better and better the longer he thought about it.

“And here I was thinking you were a doctor,” Marcus chuckled, open palm still offered. Franklin laughed at that, shaking his head.

“One drink.” He was still suspicious but he took the offered hand, letting Marcus pull him to his feet. Marcus winced as they stood and Franklin couldn't shut off the part of his brain that was trying to catalog his injuries. Marcus was a grown man and if he thought himself well enough to be up and about, then considering the circumstances, who was he to judge?

 

It took every fibre of self control he had to not question Marcus about the bruises, the limp, the shallow breaths. He looked like he'd lost a fight with a steam roller but if he wanted Marcus to stay out of his business, he had to extend the same courtesy.

Franklin found himself back in the bar he'd been in a few nights previous, when Ivanova had come after him asking about the telepaths. Marcus managed to get them a curtained booth and for that Franklin was grateful. He wasn't in much better shape than he had been then, and soon after Ivanova had left he had been politely asked to leave by the bouncer. Apparently he was 'loitering' and 'frightening patrons'.

Marcus was all charm and smiles, getting them both drinks and then shutting the curtain behind him. He slid a glass across the table and Franklin sniffed it, frowning before taking a drink and confirming his suspicions.

“Fruit juice, really?” Marcus took a swig of his own drink, Franklin could see a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“I've lost my taste for alcohol after my time on Minbar.” Marcus finished his drink, leaning forwards on his elbows. “Besides, it's bad for the liver.”

“When did you go to med school?” Franklin snapped. Marcus was teasing him and he was in no mood put up with his jabs. Marcus fixed him with a long, hard stare, one that made Franklin shrink just a little in his seat. “What do you want?”

“I told you, a drink.” Marcus shifted back in his seat, crossing his arms, his expression softened. “And I said I was worried about you.”

“You come here looking like you went barehanded against six angry Narns, and you want to lecture me?” Franklin forced a bitter laugh. Marcus slammed a palm on the table.

“Damn it Stephan, I—”

“I'm dealing with this on my own, why can no one seem to understand that?” Franklin reached for his bag.

“If this is what you call dealing, I'd hate to see what you call avoidance.” Franklin stood to leave, he'd heard enough. A hand gripped his wrist, tugging him back down. “Wait, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“You're damn right,” Franklin retorted, bag resting in his lap. He needed to get out of here, but the look Marcus was giving him made him feel guilty for thinking about it. Marcus sighed, hand still gripping Franklin's wrist from across the table.

“You must know I care about you,” Marcus began again, eyes locked on their hands.

“Are you really here for me, or is there something you need?” As much as he wanted to resent Marcus, Franklin couldn't help but feel himself becoming concerned. Marcus finally looked up, and he looked just a little bit lost.

“I don't know,” he started, “I needed to see you, but I don't know if it was for you or if it was for me.” Marcus shook his head, looking back down at their hands. Franklin bit his tongue before he could lash out again, this time at least he knew it would be undeserving.

“I can't help you,” Franklin sighed, frustrated that he felt guilty and guilty that he felt frustrated. “I need to be alone right now, I've got to get this sorted. I'm alright, I promise.” He lied and he knew Marcus knew he was lying, but Marcus just nodded, releasing his wrist.

“I'm sorry for bothering you.” Marcus stood to leave, pushing open the curtain. “Just,” he paused, looking back at Franklin, his expression unreadable, “come home soon.”

He disappeared into the crowd and Franklin watched him leave through the slit in the curtain. He sighed, sinking back into the cushion of the seat, wishing he knew exactly what the guilty knot in his stomach was trying to tell him. 


End file.
